Imprint
by Bucken-Berry
Summary: AU for Hardwired. What if George had had more reasons for being furious during the trial than being gay? What happens when he tells the squad about his deep, dark secret? On hiatus.


A/N: The start of each chapter will take place in present-time, while the ending will take place in the past. It isn't George having a flashback, just a separate storyline that takes place in the past. It might seem confusing, but bear with me.

There are several warnings for this one, but warning for them might ruin the story, so skip to the next line if you don't want to read them. Warnings are: child sexual abuse, PTSD, depression, and self-harm/attempted suicide. If anything else is added, I will add a warning for it when it comes up.

Thanks so, so much to Milk3002 for the beta! You rock. :D

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><p>The out-of-the-ordinary days never seemed to start that way. 'No,' George thought bitterly, 'They always mislead you.' Let you think things were going to be okay for a day and then sucker-punch you with something awful.<p>

Even seeing kids like Cory had seemed normal enough, at least to George.. The poor child had gotten an STD from whoever had abused him, and though that was always hard to stomach, George had been confident that he could handle the case. After all, he had handled plenty of these cases before.

Despite his history, despite the scars- physical and mental.

He wished he could say that he cared so much for abused children solely for altruistic reasons, but the truth was that there was a selfish bit to it as well; his own history fueled him even more. Despite that, George had thought he could cope with this case, or at least pretend to until he could let it all out. He hadn't thought anything would go wrong and he hadn't been given a reason to think otherwise.

Until Our Special Love had shown up. He'd dealt with pedophiles before, he'd dealt with homophobes before, and he'd dealt with their sickening arguments. But that didn't prepare him for this, for the words that made him sick to his stomach.

They were saying that his love for other men was comparable to… to _that._

To _her _and what she had done to him so long ago, when he was just a child.

It had sickened him and he couldn't deny it or suppress it like he had done so many times before. He couldn't just keep his stoicism in front of the others and then break down on his own like he usually did- it had just been too much. His actions in court had been extremely foolish, he knew as much. He had jeopardized the entire case by his outbursts; he could have caused a mistrial. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't let them just keep saying those awful things with impunity.

As soon as the judge had declared a recess, he had gone into the nearest restroom and done several things he hadn't done in a long time: vomit, have a flashback, and have a panic attack- and in just that order.

Now he was sitting on a windowsill, sipping at some weak tea with a blanket pulled over his shoulders. He felt sick and he couldn't help it- it was what flashbacks did to him. They left him with anxiety and a sick, flu-like feeling.

His hand trembled as he clasped the tea cup and stared out the window. His abuser had been a sick, sick woman, and she'd hurt him in more ways than he could count. She'd been his babysitter, and he had been so little and innocent that he had trusted her without question even when she hurt him. Even when her abuse had hurt so badly that it had brought tears to his eyes, he'd still been kind and trusting to her.

And yet Our Special Love was trying to say that she was the same as him. He never hurt anyone; pedophiles and abusers did. But the jury wouldn't get to hear that. They had heard a girl saying how dating an adult at the age of twelve hadn't hurt her- if only he had been allowed to say his side instead of having to blurt it out and risk a mistrial. Maybe not his story, but his opinion.

He felt a flashback creeping up, trying to tug him away into his dark past, and he closed his eyes to focus, using the PTSD-management techniques he knew to ground himself in the present. He was at his apartment, he reminded himself. He was an adult, living with someone who cared about him and had been through the same thing, and wouldn't ever even think about hurting him.

George rubbed his temples, feeling a headache starting. Usually spearmint tea was enough to ease his headaches, but given everything that had happened today, he knew he would probably need some Tylenol later. He took another sip of tea and looked outside, watching the bright city lights brighten the otherwise dark sky.

He sighed quietly, remembering the day, three years ago, when he had first told the detectives he was gay. He had been talking to his long-term boyfriend, Kyle, on the phone during a trying case, and the detectives had knocked on his door. He'd said a hasty, "I love you", and hung up, but then he had decided to finally tell the detectives a little about his home life. It had been so inconsequential, and none of them had judged him for it. Elliot had looked a little… uncomfortable, but not in a condemning way; he had just needed time to adjust. His admission hadn't been anything to be ashamed of or anything that changed how anyone saw him.

He hadn't, on the other hand, told them much else about him, let alone what had happened to make these cases so personal for him. It was hard, but doable to get them to believe that it was just because he was gay and a psychiatrist, and he felt that his profession and humanity were being insulted by the lies OSL was telling. And that was a part of it, but the hurt he'd been through was the biggest factor.

He wasn't ashamed to be gay, but he was ashamed to be a victim. Even after all these years, the shame had never left him completely. He had worked past the self-blame, but that was all. He couldn't stop it, no matter how hard he tried.

But if the pedophiles had their way, that would all be ignored, and that bothered him more than he could tolerate. Being gay had never hurt a soul- only society's reaction had caused any harm- while pedophiles hurt people every day. Not only were they insulting him, they were belittling his trauma.

He had been only five when then abuse had started, and it had continued until shortly after he hit puberty. He had never got any explanation from his abuser, and he never figured out why she had singled him out. Oh sure, he knew the psychological explanation, but nothing else.

George closed eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the tea cup seep into his hand. He wished he actually felt as calm and stoic as he appeared to be on a daily basis. He may have been a good pretender, but that didn't mean he was okay.

There were so few people who knew the truth; he could count them on two hands. His mother, father, older brother, older sister, and younger sister, Kyle, and his abuser- not counting people like his doctors, who only knew for professional reasons. And he didn't want anyone to know besides those who already knew. But on the other hand, it was such a heavy burden to carry.

He was so tired of carrying that burden. And he was so tired of groups like Our Special Love belittling it.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard the front door opening. He glanced up and smiled softly when he saw Kyle. His lover was barely taller than he was, with slightly pale skin, blonde-brown hair, and green eyes. He always had a soft, gentle feeling around him, a lot like his own calm, soothing one. It made it easier to relate to him and talk to him about his past. Kyle was one of the few people he could talk to comfortably about what had happened, because he had been through the same thing as him. They both understood each other's thoughts and emotions well, and that helped.

"Hey," George said softly.

"Hey. You alright?" Kyle asked gently, walking inside and setting his things- keys, papers, mail- to the side. They both knew each other well enough that they could tell what kind of day they were having just from one look.

"It's been one of _those_ days," George admitted, voice weary. "The case I told you about keeps bringing memories up for me. I even had a flashback earlier, that's how bad it is."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," Kyle murmured, sitting next to him on the windowsill and hugging him gently. "It gets to me too, sometimes, what those idiots at OSL say. But it isn't true and we both know that."

George nodded once. He relaxed in the embrace, even though he couldn't work up the energy to make eye contact and instead continued to gaze out the window. After a moment, though, he hugged Kyle back. He swallowed hard and whispered, "It's just so hard. OSL says what they want, and they ignore kids like Cory so that they can continue to lie through their teeth that what they do is fine and perfectly healthy. Then the victims are left to pick up the pieces on their own."

"But we're living proof that they're wrong, in the good and the bad sense," Kyle said softly. He pulled George closer to him and set a hand under George's chin to look into his eyes. He needed George to see the sincerity there. "As victims, we're proof that what they do is awful and hurts deep, and leaves scars that never fully heal. But as gay men, we're proof that pedophiles aren't anything like us because we help people and they don't. They just take what they want no matter how much it hurts."

George knew that already, of course. Hearing it said by someone else helped some, but not enough. He sighed, pulling Kyle's hand away. "I know. I've been telling myself that constantly since OSL showed up. But that doesn't make it easier to hear them and it doesn't mean others won't believe the crap they're saying. They get to have kids testify that it didn't hurt them- why can't I testify otherwise? Well, not me, because I wouldn't want to, but someone."

"Because," Kyle said, voice strong and confident, "Because people already know that they're wrong and they don't need to hear it. It isn't going to work, George."

"I wish I could believe that," George said despondently. "But honestly, at times like this, my job makes me lose faith. I don't even dare to hope that justice will be served anymore." He looked up, tears in his eyes. He looked at the beautiful person who had been there for him through so much, and who he had supported back. He knew they would be able to get through it even if the worst happened, but that didn't mean he didn't mind it or that he wasn't desperate to stop it. It still hurt and he hated facing it.

"It's so hard," George whispered again, clenching one hand into a fist. "They're insulting me triply every time they talk. As a psychiatrist, as a victim, and as a gay man. I could deal with the former easily because it happens all the time, and I'm used to the latter, even though it does upset me." He broke away from Kyle's hold.

He stood and walked towards the kitchen with his tea cup, beckoning Kyle to follow him.

"Why don't you remove yourself from the case?" Kyle asked gently. "There's no use going through with it if all it's doing is opening up old wounds."

George sighed, dumping the remaining tea into the sink and rinsing the cup. "Several reasons. One, even if I do that, it's still stuck in my head. I may as well do something useful. Two, if I stop testifying, my coworkers will know something more is going on, and I'll have to tell them everything. I've presented myself as a stoic and unemotional person; my outbursts today already alerted them that something was wrong. I managed to pass it off as just being bothered about the argument in general, but if I keep it up I'll have to tell them everything. They won't think less of me as a person, but it could make them question my decisions and my professionalism. If I get bothered by a case, they might think it's because of what happened. I'm not ready to face that yet."

"Okay," Kyle said softly, setting a hand on George's shoulder and massaging gently. "But I'm always here for you if you need it."

"I know; you always have been. And I'm here for you too," George murmured, grasping Kyle's hand gratefully. He rubbed over the smooth skin and closed his eyes.

"Come on, let's get dinner started," Kyle said, kissing George's forehead once. He knew better than to kiss his lips on a bad day, so he resigned himself to comforting contact that wouldn't trigger him. George had had to do the same thing with him before.

George nodded mutely and walked to the refrigerator. Opening it, he saw that they had the ingredients for parmesan chicken, and he smiled softly. That was a favorite meal of theirs and it would help him feel at least a little better. It was called comfort food for a reason, after all. If they had some wine with it, it would be perfect.

He started to prepare a salad while Kyle worked with the chicken, but he paused for a moment before starting. He still felt panicky and uneasy, and his conscience would only be set at ease after all this was over. He hated feeling vulnerable. At this point in their lives, it was a rare feeling for him and Kyle, but as the saying went, when it rained, it poured.

But for now, at least, he could relax a little, knowing he had someone who understood his pain. In their twenty-five years together, the one thing that had remained constant was that they always supported each other.

As hard as things would be, at least he wasn't facing it alone.

_George hummed contentedly, cuddling his teddy bear while his younger sister played with her dolls._

"_Can I see your bear?" Grace asked sweetly, walking over to him. "Sally needs to talk to him."_

_George shook his head, holding the bear tighter. "I don't want him to get ruined," he whispered. He loved that bear._

"_George, Grace, Nora, Henry, come here, please!" their mother called suddenly in Chinese._

_Though they could speak enough English to get by, their parents preferred speaking Chinese whenever possible, especially in their own house. George and Grace could both speak Chinese as well as they could speak English._

_George stood up and grabbed Grace's hand. At three years old, she was still a little unsteady on her feet. He held his bear to his hip with his other arm and they left the playroom and walked downstairs together._

"_Māmā?" George asked, entering into the room. His mother, father, and a woman he didn't know were standing there._

_After a moment, his older brother and sister, Henry and Nora, joined them. Henry was the oldest at thirteen, while Nora was ten._

"_Your father and I are going out for dinner. This is your new babysitter, Sarah," their mother said._

_George swallowed nervously; he hated when his parents weren't there. But the new babysitter looked nice enough. She was a young woman who reminded him of his Kindergarten teacher._

_He walked over and hugged his parent's legs, murmuring, "See you soon, mom and dad. I love you," in Chinese._

"_I promise we'll be back soon, little one. We'll be back before your bedtime," his mother promised, picking him up and hugging him tight. She kissed his forehead and handed him to his father, who also gave him a hug, though it was more distant. Not because he loved him any less, but because of the expectations everyone had for men._

_Then they moved to say goodbye to Grace, Henry, and Nora, while the babysitter introduced herself to George. Kneeling down so that she was at his level, she said, gently, "That's a nice bear you have."_

_George hugged him shyly and looked down. He was always shy around strangers, but less so when his parents were there. "Thanks. His name's Felix, like the cat."_

"_That's a cute name," she said. George nodded mutely, still feeling nervous and afraid._

"_What do you like to do?" Sarah asked, not giving up at coaxing him._

_George looked up and saw that his parents had left. That distressed him even more, and undid what little progress Sarah had made. "I don't know," he muttered._

"_How about we all watch a cartoon, then?" she suggested. George nodded, still silent, and let her take his hand._

_Nora and Henry went upstairs to do homework, so that left him and Grace. He let Grace pick the movie- something with princesses- and just cuddled his bear miserably, barely comprehending anything that happened on the movie._

_Sarah never stopped trying to get him to open up, though, and eventually he started talking a little more in response to her questions. He told her about Kindergarten, how he liked reading and playtime but not singing. By the time she announced it was time for dinner, he was actually happy and excited. They decided to make macaroni and cheese, and he enjoyed helping her make it._

_He was still relieved when his parents got home, and he hugged them gratefully when they walked in. But Sarah had earned his trust, __and he wasn't quite so nervous at the thought of his parents going out anymore._

_Little did he know that Sarah would break his trust into a million pieces._


End file.
